Several of my friends tagged me in an article today in People Magazine featuring a family who grew their family through an embryo placed by another family. One friend in particular is personal friends with one of the two genetic mothers mentioned in the article.
Overall, I'm glad to see Embryo Adoption receive positive press. A lot of what the mom interviewed said was life-affirming and she also spoke freely about her faith. I hope the article leads to more embryo adoptions. Their daughter is a cutie. I also think the way the genetic mom has shared her story has paid excellent respect and honor to the difficult decisions and pain and loss that can be felt by the placing family, and also the tremendous blessing and peace that can come to both families.
I take big issue with one major theme throughout the article, and it's not specific to her. It's not even specific to Embryo Adoption. It's the notion that adoption (of any kind) is an answer to infertility. I don't even think people mean to communicate that, but it's so ingrained in our culture that the belief is easily betrayed within a few minutes of conversation.
Embryo Adoption is not a fertility treatment and we need to stop treating it like it is.
I firmly believe that the reason so many children (both frozen and not) are in need of homes is because we've relegated adoption to a "Plan B" for people who can't conceive.
Adoption is a calling, and for the Church, it's a commandment.
It's not a cause or a crusade, either.
Adoption is messy. And hard. And beautiful. And wonderful. But it should not be entered into as an effort to fix a problem in your life. Children in need of a family need to be loved and embraced and pursued and rescued because we want to give them love, not because we couldn't give that love to someone else. We should adopt because we have something to give and we feel the call to give that something to someone, not just because we want to receive something. It's a perfectly wonderful thing to want a child...even desperately so. But adoption needs to be about the child AT LEAST as much as it's about the parents.
The problem with treating adoption as an answer to infertility is that the byproduct is, by in large (I know there are exceptions), that people think of adoption as a backup plan, when there are millions of children worldwide who need us, the Church, to be their Plan A. People shouldn't adopt just because they're infertile, and shouldn't not adopt just because their biology works just fine. The two issues have become intertwined, when really, they are unrelated. The call to adopt can touch anyone with any variety of biological function. Adoption is a beautiful picture of God's love for us, and it is something He asks us to do to take care of the most vulnerable in our world. His instruction has no fertility contingencies.
Often people ask an infertile couple, "Why don't you just adopt?" Well, why don't you, fertile-Myrtle? Biology has no bearing on whether or not someone is called to adopt. Adoption should be considered because someone wants to answer a call in their heart and we should be listening for that call, regardless of if we can procreate. I don't think every person is called to adopt and it would be wrong for those who aren't called to do so. Adoption is too darn hard for that. But if only the 10% of people who are infertile ever adopt, we will never catch up and children will suffer needlessly.
The other problem with treating embryo adoption like a fertility treatment is that it can open the door to violating the sanctity of life. If you think of these embryos as "therapy" or "treatment" rather than people, then it's easy to forget their humanity when making decisions about their future. This is pretty common in fertility clinics, that treat embryos clinically, not humanely. When the whole reason Embryo Adoption was invented was to honor the humanity of these children, we shouldn't be helping the conversation that contradicts that.
Showing posts with label Infertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Infertility. Show all posts
Monday, November 17, 2014
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
"Secondary" "Infertility"
Technically, our family struggles from secondary infertility, meaning, we are unable to conceive a child after successfully birthing a first child. But technically "secondary" doesn't really apply to us since there isn't a time when we ever weren't infertile and WE didn't conceive our first child. It's a weird place to be. Like this whole rest of our journey. Breaking the mold, y'all!
I remember before I had Matthew and I would hear people share their hurt over secondary infertility and my knee-jerk reaction was "So what? At least you have one child. Just be grateful." If you struggled with secondary IF during that time in my life, I probably thought those thoughts toward you. Please forgive me.
Now, that exact same sentiment is often sent our way as an effort to encourage--"At least you have Matthew!" And we do. Not one single day goes by when I don't realize what an amazing, precious, incredible little boy he is, and how immensely blessed we are to have him. But, you wouldn't tell a widow(er) to stop grieving the deceased spouse because at least they had X amount of years together. No amount of past or current blessing can replace what has been lost. Can make you stop missing it. I love Matthew completely and wholly. And my life is better now with him than it was before him. That is the only sense in which this second time around is "better." But Matthew's presence in my life will never ever make me stop missing his siblings. As each one is a unique person, each one had a different place in my heart and on this planet and in God's design. They're not interchangeable. To imply such invalidates their very nature as being created uniquely by God in His image. If you lost one of your born children, would you be comforted by "Well, at least you still have little Susie?" I don't know why people treat this situation any differently.
When you're grieving WITH a child, it's totally different than when you're grieving without one. It's not better or worse or harder or easier. It's just different. Now I carry grief for him, too. I miss what he will miss out on. I miss the relationships and memories and and experiences and family he won't have. I see him interacting with other children and I'm wistful of what could have been. I feel like in all of this, HE got the short end of the stick.
As a judgment on infertility or as an "encouragement" to grieving parents, that whole notion of "at least you have one," is just hard. It's true. It absolutely is. But to say that to someone hurting is not useful. Pain and joy are not mutually exclusive. Joy for the one does not satisfy the longing for the lost. Even Christ the Shepherd would leave the 99 sheep to rescue the 1 lost. Our family has a huge, gigantic, gaping hole in it and neither Matthew, or DH, nor I, nor any children in the future if some miracle were ever granted us, can fill the void they left.
The reality about secondary infertility is that no matter if you have one child or 20, it's hard to have your family choices made due to circumstances beyond your control. I'm not talking about a cosmic, none of us are really in control sort of way, but in the practical way. We did not make any active decisions that resulted in the stunting of our family growth. To have that taken away from you is hard, regardless of how many children you do or don't have.
To all you IF sisters out there, primary OR secondary, this road just hurts, and I'm sorry for all of us.
It's long been a soapbox of mine that love is a choice. But I'm learning on this journey that trust is a choice, too. (You say, "DUH Jen.") I have to choose trust. Choose to trust that this hurt is not for naught. Choose to believe that this pain will not last one second longer than it needs to. Choose to believe that God is good and faithful and that He loves me. I hope you'll make that choice, too.
I remember before I had Matthew and I would hear people share their hurt over secondary infertility and my knee-jerk reaction was "So what? At least you have one child. Just be grateful." If you struggled with secondary IF during that time in my life, I probably thought those thoughts toward you. Please forgive me.
Now, that exact same sentiment is often sent our way as an effort to encourage--"At least you have Matthew!" And we do. Not one single day goes by when I don't realize what an amazing, precious, incredible little boy he is, and how immensely blessed we are to have him. But, you wouldn't tell a widow(er) to stop grieving the deceased spouse because at least they had X amount of years together. No amount of past or current blessing can replace what has been lost. Can make you stop missing it. I love Matthew completely and wholly. And my life is better now with him than it was before him. That is the only sense in which this second time around is "better." But Matthew's presence in my life will never ever make me stop missing his siblings. As each one is a unique person, each one had a different place in my heart and on this planet and in God's design. They're not interchangeable. To imply such invalidates their very nature as being created uniquely by God in His image. If you lost one of your born children, would you be comforted by "Well, at least you still have little Susie?" I don't know why people treat this situation any differently.
When you're grieving WITH a child, it's totally different than when you're grieving without one. It's not better or worse or harder or easier. It's just different. Now I carry grief for him, too. I miss what he will miss out on. I miss the relationships and memories and and experiences and family he won't have. I see him interacting with other children and I'm wistful of what could have been. I feel like in all of this, HE got the short end of the stick.
As a judgment on infertility or as an "encouragement" to grieving parents, that whole notion of "at least you have one," is just hard. It's true. It absolutely is. But to say that to someone hurting is not useful. Pain and joy are not mutually exclusive. Joy for the one does not satisfy the longing for the lost. Even Christ the Shepherd would leave the 99 sheep to rescue the 1 lost. Our family has a huge, gigantic, gaping hole in it and neither Matthew, or DH, nor I, nor any children in the future if some miracle were ever granted us, can fill the void they left.
The reality about secondary infertility is that no matter if you have one child or 20, it's hard to have your family choices made due to circumstances beyond your control. I'm not talking about a cosmic, none of us are really in control sort of way, but in the practical way. We did not make any active decisions that resulted in the stunting of our family growth. To have that taken away from you is hard, regardless of how many children you do or don't have.
To all you IF sisters out there, primary OR secondary, this road just hurts, and I'm sorry for all of us.
It's long been a soapbox of mine that love is a choice. But I'm learning on this journey that trust is a choice, too. (You say, "DUH Jen.") I have to choose trust. Choose to trust that this hurt is not for naught. Choose to believe that this pain will not last one second longer than it needs to. Choose to believe that God is good and faithful and that He loves me. I hope you'll make that choice, too.
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